


Tourist Trap

by thatgirlwhodraws



Category: Stranger Things (TV 2016)
Genre: Drug Use, Kidnapping, M/M, Torture, Use of OC’s as needed
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-02-01
Updated: 2020-02-01
Packaged: 2021-02-28 00:41:33
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Rape/Non-Con
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,065
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22514902
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/thatgirlwhodraws/pseuds/thatgirlwhodraws
Summary: Billy finally has the chance to move out of the Hargrove household. But when his father demands he joins the family on a cruise, he has no choice but to tag along. Pretty soon, he's meeting the wrong people in the wrong place, and he wakes up in restraints.Surviving alone is hard, and made even harder when Steve fucking Harrington shows up.
Relationships: Billy Hargrove/Steve Harrington
Comments: 8
Kudos: 33





	Tourist Trap

**Author's Note:**

> This fic was inspired by a dream I had involving Billy, though I’m fairly certain my brain pulled it from a movie I saw years ago as inspiration. If anyone has an idea of what it might have been, or it seems familiar, let me know!
> 
> WARNING; this fic is going to be a bit dark. Graphic depictions of torture, some bad touch, forced training/conditioning and whatnot. The first few chapters are all about Billy, but Steve will come in a bit later. If you’re a fan of angst with a happy ending, stick around. All comments are appreciated!
> 
> Thanks to @trashmage and @ dawnofmandanceparty for beta reading.

It’s blisteringly hot, just the way Billy likes it. He had turned twenty-one three days ago, and at Max’s insistence, he agreed to this stupid cruise Neil had paid for. He’d only been out of the house for a week when Neil stated, in no uncertain terms, that he was expected to show. He was about ready to throw the fucking phone at the wall until Max texted him later, begging. ‘ _ Please, Billy. I really want to see you.’ _ So he’d agreed. Reluctant as all hell but fuck, Max is seventeen and almost free of that fucking house, while Billy feels like he’s still barely scraping by alone, insisting on moving out the minute he’d turned eighteen. He hadn’t fucking gotten out until now—- paying off debts to Neil with blood, pain, and what little savings he could scrape together before he booked it the fuck out of there.

The wind and sun feel good. Billy isnt fucking thrilled to be here with Neil and Susan, both of whom are doing a great impression of the  _ perfect fucking family _ while Billy enjoys his newfound freedom to drink without having to steal, beg, or borrow. They’re in Bali, which is Neil’s choice, even though Billy himself would’ve been happier in California. But Neil can never give Billy what he wants. It feels like the choice is meant to spite him. Taking him somewhere beautiful-- sun overhead and white, white sand all around them, knowing Billy will never be able to afford coming back. At least it’s not fucking  _ Hawkins, Indiana.  _

He’s about two drinks in, sunning himself on the beach that had been their third stop on the trip when a shadow comes over him. Billy lets his sunglasses fall lower on his nose, finding himself eye-to-eye with two girls:; a bottle blonde with fantastic tits, and a girl who looks like she might be local, her arms covered in winding, flowery tattoos. Billy grins on instinct, putting on his best smile that used to make all the moms in Hawkins wet. 

“Hey ladies,” Billy purrs, halfway sitting up in the creaking, plastic chair he’d dragged to the edge of the resort’s sectioned off portion of beach, having no desire to sit beside his father and get glared at for getting drunk in the middle of the day. He’s on  _ vacation _ for fuck’s sake. He fucking deserves this. 

The girl with the tattoos giggles— twisting a finger around one lock of dark hair and popping the bubblegum he’d only barely noticed her chewing. It’s annoying but kinda cute, and it’s been months since Billy got his dick wet. “We’re heading to a party, and like, hoped you would join.” Her English is good— enough that Billy has to question whether or not she’s from around here. But she’s pretty, and her and her friend look easy. It’s exactly what Billy needs.

“Yeah? You lookin’ for some company?” Billy hears himself ask, giving them both an appreciative once-over. They both giggle, whispering in a language he doesn’t understand before they’re pulling him playfully to his feet. He lets them— drawn like a moth to a flame, only casting the barest glance back at Neil to see him and  _ Susan,  _ kissing on the sand, before he rolls his eyes and tugs on his shirt; only to avoid looking fucking indecent in front of his dad. He shuffles into his sandals, smiling a wide, shark-smile. “Sounds good to me. Let’s get the fuck out of here.”

The rest of the afternoon is a blur. They get him into a car, drive him ten minutes to a hotel that looks  _ fucking expensive. _ He spends the afternoon smoking weed, groping sweaty, curved bodies, being deafened by shitty techno music and forgetting what day it is. By the time he’s starting to sober up, he finds himself stumbling out onto a patio, where a handful of guys are smoking blunts and speaking softly. Grinning in his usual, cocky sort of way, he settles himself between the blonde he knows and a man he doesn’t. The man’s wearing an obnoxiously bright Hawaiian style shirt and has a dark scaled snake wrapped around his neck like a decoration. Billy is a little too buzzed to care that the man is plastering himself to Billy’s side. Whatever. Billy is here for weed and company and to forget who he is.

“Mind if I take a hit?” Billy asks the man beside him— who presses close before practically falling over himself to remove himself from his seat, when another man gets up. He’s tall— two inches taller than Billy, with tanned skin and a large, warped scar winding from his chin to the corner of his mouth, like a failed Cheshire grin. He’s wearing an expensive tux— giving Billy a bright eyed, curious look before handing him an unlit joint. He watches while Billy lights up—taking a deep inhale and feeling his head swim from the strength of it before he speaks up.

“Mattias. Are you a tourist?” He asks, almost knowing, sliding in to take the place the hanger-on had vacated and reaching a hand up to brush the nape of Billy’s neck. It makes his skin tingle, his knee jerk reaction leaving him wanting to flinch away, but he’s buzzed, high as fuck, and feeling particularly forgiving. He shrugs off the touch and takes another hit before offering the joint back to Mattias, watching as he takes a hit from the joint before he starts to relax. At least he knows he isn’t fucking drugged— not more than he wants to be, anyway.

“I guess. I’m Billy. My fucking dad dragged me here,” Billy’s more talkative than he’d usually be, due to the weed hanging over him like a blanket over his senses. He doesn’t think twice when Mattias hands him the joint again, grateful to have something to occupy his mouth before he says something stupid and fucks himself over. Still, as he breathes out, Billy finds himself talking again, only distantly aware of how close the stranger is sitting. Billy can feel his body heat. “Used to live by the beach, ‘til dad dragged us to the middle of fucking nowhere, America. It’s nice.” He leans his head back, breathing in deep. He can still smell salt in the air, this close to the shore, mixing with the sweet smell of smoke. Billy feels at  _ home _ here. 

Mattias’ smile widens a little, the scar on his face warping with it, and when he crosses his legs, they brush against Billy’s. He casually drapes an arm behind Billy on the couch they’re sharing, almost seeming to wait until Billy is distracted before he starts playing with the curls at the back of Billy’s head. Billy’s whole scalp is tingling; he’s defensive about his hair, but the few times he’s allowed a chick to run her fingers through it, he’d always found himself leaning into the touch. He does that now. He doesn’t think about it, and he doesn’t think about Mattias’ calloused fingers brushing his when he takes the joint back.

“There’s nothing quite like it, is there? The sea. It makes you feel so...  _ alive _ .” Mattias hums, fingers threading through Billy’s hair like they belong there, scratching at his scalp. It makes Billy feel almost sleepy, the urge to curl up somewhere and relax hitting him like a wave. “You don’t like your father much, do you?” Mattias’ words should be a question, but they feel like a statement. It makes Billy frown slightly, and he wets his lips after his next hit. 

“I guess. What makes you think that?” Billy turns to look at Mattias, meeting startling blue eyes, blue like the sea. Some far off part of Billy’s brain notes that he’s attractive, with his smug little smile, and slicked back hair. Even if he is a little rough around the edges. The warning voice in his brain that usually tamps down those thoughts is muffled by the atmosphere. 

Grinning wide, like he’d  _ wanted _ Billy to ask that, Mattias hums. His hand moves as if to take the joint from Billy, but instead finds a bruise on his sternum— green and yellow, a final parting gift from Neil before he’d moved out. He digs his fingers into the bruise until Billy grunts— jerking back just a little. But he’s got nowhere to go, and irritation rises up inside him. He smacks the hand away, but even that makes Mattias smile.

“Seems like he doesn’t treat you very well.” Undeterred, Mattias follows the open V of Billy’s shirt, only one button still done up, and finds an old scar— a circular mark, faded from years of lying in the sun. Billy remembers it like the day he’d been ‘gifted’ it, a cigarette stubbed out when Neil had caught him smoking at thirteen. Before Billy can smack his hand away again, the hand in his hair tightens until he can’t move. “You don’t need to go back to that, you know. You could stay here.” His fingers trail upward again— and Billy feels another hand, like iron, gripping his wrist. When he looks, the hanger-on from before is holding him down, pinning him like a fly to a wall. Through the stony haze of his high, Billy feels a sudden clawing panic. 

“What the fuck—?” Billy hisses as the hand in his hair grips tight, making his scalp ache. Mattias finds a cut on his collarbone, where Neil’s ring had broken the skin. He digs his nail in, reopening the wound, making Billy snarl and jerk in his grip; the man is strong under the tailored lines of his suit, and his lackey is, too. Through the rising tide of panic inside him, Billy’s eyes flicker wildly around him:  _ Everyone _ here looks rough. Scarred in one way or another. They’re all watching him like a piece of meat. 

“Henry, if you would?” Mattias speaks, sounding almost distracted, his eyes still on Billy’s face. Billy shouldn’t feel so weak, should be able to fight back. He wonders if he was drugged, after all. The man holding him down has the snake taken from him— the other pair of hands pries its jaws open, until its fangs are exposed. Clear liquid drips from the end of each point and Billy goes tense as it hovers over him. Mattias’ fingernails keep digging hard into the wound, until blood is flowing freely. Billy only has a few seconds to tense up, dread rising up inside him, before venom drips into his split open skin, held fast by Mattias’ fingers.

Billy feels like he’s on fire. He can’t help it. He howls, the pain making him writhe, gasping. Mattias keeps digging into the free bleeding cut, like he’s trying to grind the poison into him. Billy’s world tilts suddenly, and he finds himself held against the man’s strong barrel chest, bloody fingers soothing through his hair, shushing him like he’s a child. 

“ _ Shh _ , that’s it. You’re going to have a fever for a while, but you’ll be fine. I’ll take care of you,” Mattias promises. His words are a sweet, sticky poison, even more so than the substance now making Billy’s skin start to feel clammy, his breath shaky. How long has he been here? Has his dad even noticed he’s fucking  _ gone? _ Billy’s eyes are burning with the sudden threat of tears, and he shudders— trying to push away from Mattias, the urge to fight rising up inside him. He’s reaching, reaching for that rage inside him that has served him so well in the past. Mattias’ voice laughs, almost soft, and Billy gasps when bloody fingers wind tight in his hair again, yanking his head back until he’s staring, through blurred vision, at Mattias’ calm face. 

“I think you should sleep now.” His hand slides down Billy’s neck, searching for something, before two fingers dig in, hard. Billy’s vision blurs more, blackness creeping in at the edges. He tries to gasp for breath. “That’s it, Billy.  _ Sleep. _ ” And Billy can’t breathe, can’t think, his vision going dark. The pain feels further away now, Billy barely feeling the hand fisted in his hair, or the heat making his veins feel like he’s on fire from the inside. He hears Mattias’ voice a moment before the blackness swallows him.

“ _ We have so much work to do.” _


End file.
